When I think about how old Chuck was when my mom first met him, I think about his youth and his young life because he had so much to live for, life was just beginning. As I write this, I think about how short his life was because when my mom first met him; he was no older than what I am right now. At the time he was first introduced to me, I was ten going on eleven.

It is important for me to talk about how old Chuck was when he was involved in my life because he was learning about who he was and how his life made sense to him. I think that everyone goes through that. Whether you are choosing a university at nineteen, planning a family in your mid-twenties or wondering which path to stay on, we all make choices and think about where we would ideally like to be in life.

I didn't have the cognitive ability to think about this when Chuck was with us but now I understand the importance of identity formation and identity achievement. I feel sad when I think about his identity. I know that he was rejected by his family. He had pain. He had dark secrets that he did not want to share because of overwhelming shame. All people fear to some degree if they will be liked by others…they question if they will be accepted. Does this make him less of a person that deserved to be murdered? I think that those feelings only made him human. A human that needed to be validated, loved, accepted, nurtured, and cared for.

So as I write this I think about my story of Chuck and how I can sum up the greatest lessons that he taught me. Most of all, I need to think about what I have learned in life from knowing him and how I can learn from experiencing this parole of Yvonne Johnson and fallacies of her book.

You see, Chuck was a Métis Cree man who rejected his native heritage. He was so ashamed of being Native because he lived (as we all do today) in a society that is quick to shame people because of their ignorance or mere lack of education. It happens to so many: gay people, visual minorities, people who are physically scarred or have deformities. When a person has difficulty accepting who they are, how can they achieve any kind of identity formation?

When you have the combination of not liking who you are as a person and then not being accepted and loved by your own family, it creates a potential formula for a deeply wounded soul. This is how I understand the pain that Chuck carried. This is how I understand the pain of others. When people carry this pain, it is very present in the moment and therefore people survive on a daily basis. This is how Chuck survived emotionally and mentally.

Before Chuck came into my family, my mother was a very different person. As a residential school survivor, she passed on life skills (which were next to nothing) that she learned while being away from her family as a child. Therefore, I was a product of the generational affects of residential school. There was disconnection in my family's communication and emotions, and no guidance in mental support. My mom was very strict in the sense that she could not be negotiated with. Just like the nuns at the residential school. You just did what you were told or else you were punished. My mom had very little skill in emotionally nurturing us and was not involved like most parents in our academics. I believe in my heart that she was there more than some of my other native friend's parents but at the same time she was emotionally absent.

When Chuck came into our life so much changed. For the first time in my life I felt like I had a family because we did the traditional family things. He taught my mom to be open and communicate with us. He told her to listen to what we had to say because our reasons for coming home past our curfew might be justifiable. With this, I felt like I was validated and what I had to say was important. Chuck taught us how to change up our weekly menus and experiment with food. As most native people, the traditional menu consisted of meat and potatoes. That was the extent of it for me.

Today I commend Chuck for the amount of things I know about home repairs, light automotive, and cooking. As I had said before, he was an incredible handyman and was always making the house look better. He was creative in a sense that he made a little wagon out of an old sled so that our dog could pull my little sister Amanda around in the summer. This was better than a stroller and was versatile for many other things.

He was generous and taught me the importance in sharing with others what you have. I remember him asking me to take care of all the cash sales at our yard sale when I was twelve years old. He said, "Rhonda, I will give you 15% of what you make so that you can have your own spending money." What a valuable lesson to know that you have a part in what you sell. I will never forget that. He validated me when no one besides my family validated him. This is why I speak for him. He will never be forgotten. He will always have a special place in my heart.

It is now been fifteen years since he has been gone. There are many moments of sadness, anger, and I still grieve his absence. And yet when I think about him and celebrate his life I can laugh, giggle and sometimes when I'm alone I will smile as I think about the things we did together. He was funny, liked to joke around and was always making me laugh. Most importantly, Chuck was able to laugh at himself. I remember he was telling my mom and me that he wanted to go on a diet to lose a few pounds. Not a half an hour later he went to the store and bought ice cream, chocolate bars and chips. He came home and sat on the couch and began eating his treats. My mom and I walked into the living room and said, "Hey, what about your diet?" Chuck laughed so loud and said, "Oh yeah, I already forgot." Another time we drove to his parent's cabin we got stuck in the mud. Chuck got out of the car to guide his dad who was trying to steer the vehicle. Chuck went to stand behind the car and said to his dad, "Okay, floor it!" His dad stepped on the gas and the mud flew out from out the tire so fast that within a second Chuck was covered in mud. We all laughed so hard and Chuck's response was a tiny smirk because he knew that he looked funny. I smile when I think about these stories. This is only an excerpt of the many happy times that I had with him.

I know there will be days when I will read this over and think about how much more I can add about him. This page you are reading will always be changing just as my attempt for closure to this tragedy changes. I only pray that people will see and learn to understand Chuck through my story. I hope that people will see that he was very much alive in my life and will always be because of what he has taught me. I believe that through his life accomplishments and mistakes he has assisted in my identity formation and receives credit for who I am as a person. Without his life lessons, I would not be who I am today.

May you rest peacefully Chuck until we see each other again. You are and will always be loved.